


the inevitability of hauntings and the heart

by amaranthskies



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/F, Ghosts, Supernatural Elements, They're Dumb And In Love, also. ghosts, blake's trying to put up with all the spirits, yang's just looking for something fun to do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 09:45:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19827562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaranthskies/pseuds/amaranthskies
Summary: Ghost hunting would work as a good first date; Yang just has to avoid death, and Blake has to find a way to say what she's feeling.





	the inevitability of hauntings and the heart

**Author's Note:**

> did someone say.. ghosts?

_ the inevitability of hauntings and the heart _

Blake’s bored when Yang calls her up, thumbing through a book without actually reading the words. She welcomes the sunny, ringing tones of her phone and answers the call, Yang’s voice even brighter than her ringtone. 

_ “Hey, Belladonna,” _ she says, voice pitching deep and low in an attempt to sound seductive, and Blake fights the urge to roll her eyes. _ “Heard you were looking for a job.” _

“Hello, Yang.” Blake pokes at her book again, eyeing the door. “Did you get locked out of the apartment again?”

Yang spluttered indignantly.  _ “Both you and Ruby won’t let that go,”  _ she says, mocking a pretense of grumpiness. Blake laughs, let the sound spill out of her and crash through the receiver. Her home’s already too empty, and it echoes through the walls.  _ “I’m at the cafe down the street. I actually have something to ask you.” _

“Be there in ten,” Blake says, kicking on her shoes. Her book’s on the table, still open to her forgotten page. “If it’s not important you’re making dinner tonight.”

_ “Oh,”  _ Yang says,  _ “Come in five minutes and I’ll make sure it’s worth your time.” _

Blake laughs and switches her phone off, but her heart rolls in her chest as she pushes through the door. 

-

She makes it in four minutes, of course, and Yang grins at her as she walks through the door. Blake drops into the seat across from Yang, who courteously shoves a steaming cup of liquid at her. “Tea,” she explains, and Blake reaches for the sugar. “Because you’re  _ so  _ averse to coffee.”

“Excuse you,” Blake says, gulping down her tea and hissing when it burns her tongue. “You don’t see  _ me  _ going into a full-blown panic at seven in the morning because the damn coffee machine is broken -”

“I need  _ caffeine, _ ” Yang said dramatically, leaning over to peer at Blake through half-lidded eyes. 

“You don’t need three cappucinos in a row,” Blake returns. After a pause she says, “Thanks for the tea.”

“You’re welcome, babe,” Yang says lightly, and Blake fights back the automatic, hopeful jump in her heart. They’d known each other long enough that casual names of affection and endearment were fair game in their household, and Blake always assumed Yang’s words were platonic.

She couldn’t allow herself to hope for another reason. 

“Anyways,” Yang says, her eyes glinting, “I have a proposition for you.”

“Go for it,” Blake says blithely over her cup of tea. 

“Ghosts,” Yang deadpans.

Blake pauses; she raises her eyes and meets Yang’s stare. Yang’s wearing that half-loose, half-stern grin slung across her face, quirking her lips up in an invitation to peel back and reveal a hint of pearly teeth. It’s cocky and reckless and makes Blake wants to lean across the table and kiss that look off her face, but she’s catching Yang’s eyes and her pulse is rising too fast for her to control. 

She chooses to focus on the word Yang had just uttered. “Ghosts?” she repeated.

Yang drops something heavy on the table. Blake looked at it, saw the clunky object with the strap dangling off the side of the table - she registers the gleam and the lens.

Blake taps the camera, running her fingers across the shiny cover. “So,” she says, drawing out the word and rolling it in her mouth. Yang’s eyes flick down to the camera and back to her mouth, like she’s waiting for a reply, throat bobbing. “Ghosts.”

Yang’s arm is slung across the back of her chair, throat tipped back. “Just to mess around,” she says. “You up for it?”

“Sure,” Blake replies, thinking of all the crazy things Yang’s suggested to her and the crazier that’s happened. “I’m down.”

-

In hindsight, ghost hunting really shouldn’t have sounded as enticing to Blake as Yang made it.

It was late one night, a week or so after Yang had propositioned Blake with her strange request. Blake was almost ready to go to bed when Yang appeared in her doorway, her unruly gold hair already tied back and a camo jacket flung across her shoulders. 

Yang wiggled the camera in her hand. “Let’s go,” she said, her eyes gleaming. 

“Can the ghouls wait?” Blake grumbled, but she pulled on a sweater. “We need flashlights.”

“Catch.” Yang tossed them to Blake, who fumbled the clunky object and finally tucked it into her pocket. “Ghosts, here we come!”

-

Half an hour later, Blake found herself in front of a rickety, old house that looked like it hadn’t been lived in for a century. Weeds grew along the porch and some boards were clearly rotted through, shattered glass spraying the gravel by Blake’s boots.

Yang was already hoisting herself through one of the windows. “It’s safe,” she whispered theatrically. Her flashlight cut through the darkness, a thin beam of wavering light. “Come on, Blake.”

Blake pulled herself through the window with more surety than Yang, slipping through the boards. It isn’t her  _ first  _ time climbing through a broken window of a place she shouldn’t have been trespassing, but she decides it’s not something she should mention right now.

Something white and ghostly rises in her vision and she bites back a yelp, swinging her flashlight to cut through and illuminate the object. It’s just a chair, covered in a dusty, yellowing sheet, but the initial shock is still leaving her heart racing. 

“Blake,” Yang says, and her voice is excited. “Look at the furniture in this place.”

“You mean the stuff that  _ isn’t  _ covered by dusty sheets?” Blake asks sarcastically. She steps further into the house - it’s old, sure, but she’s not that certain about it being  _ haunted.  _

The house becomes larger and more spacious the more she explores - it’s like a maze, twisting and stretching through the hallways and wooden framework. She can dimly hear Yang exploring near her, but her footsteps are muffled by the large house.

Blake breaks through to see a large ballroom - it’s ghostly and there’s moonlight cutting through the arched windows. A tangled backyard is visible behind the glass, and a dusty chandelier is twinkling above her - the floor is smooth and covered by a layer of dust, and Blake walks to the center of the room, swinging her flashlight around to look at the room.

There was a loud CRASH behind her and Blake spun around. Her flashlight illuminated an apologetic Yang, hovering in the doorway. “My flashlight fell,” she said softly, raising her hands at Blake in admission. She bent down and picked it up, rolling the object in her fingers, flicking the switch to turn it on.

Nothing happened. Yang frowned and tried again.  _ Click. Click. _

The light didn’t turn on. Yang looked up to see Blake, who was still in the middle of the room, dust rising in a cloud around her ankles. 

“Blake,” she said, slowly, “How much did you walk around the room?”

“Just to the center,” Blake replied, slightly bewildered. “Why?”

Yang didn’t answer, slowly edging towards Blake. Blake reached around with her flashlight, the milky light cutting a clear path around the room, and that’s when she saw them.

Footprints in the dust, circling around her. They were small and obviously made by a child, barefoot. The footprints were fresh and as Blake watched, another one appeared. Then another. 

They were painting spirals around Blake, moving up and down. Blake’s breath caught in her throat, and she edged slowly towards Yang, shuffling slowly as to not disturb… whatever was making the footprints.

The footprints stopped when Blake nearly reached the doorway. Yang’s camera was in her hand and she was reaching out for Blake’s arm, fingers nearly brushing her elbow.

Blake’s foot hit the threshold and the footprints suddenly started appearing again, this time moving in a frenzied, scattered motion around the room, breaking the neat spirals. Yang’s hand was steady on Blake’s elbow and they were both tripping around the hallways, climbing up the stairs and dashing through doorways. 

Blake only stopped running when they were back in Yang’s car and Yang’s foot was pressed to the gas. “Jesus,” she exhaled. “I hope you got that on camera.”

Yang winked, wiggling the camera in her hand - she was dust-streaked and her hair was tangled around her forehead, spirals of gold brushing her cheekbones. “Right here, baby.”

-

The next couple of times were uneventful - they visited the house again once they’d gotten their nerve, but nothing happened. “Maybe we scared them away,” Yang sighed, swiping her flashlight at the ballroom. The dust was still there but the footprints were gone, as was any evidence that Blake and Yang were there in the first place. 

They manage to capture a couple other things - odd lightbulbs flashing in flashes and dots that Yang and Blake can’t decipher, small things toppling with no source of force. One time, Blake found Yang trapped in a room, pounding on the door for Blake to let her out.

“What happened?” Blake asked, when she finally managed to knock the handle into place and Yang stumbled out, looking white as a ghost. “I was only gone a few minutes - hey,” she added, startled, as Yang threw her arms around the smaller girl and hugged her tightly, burying her face in her neck. A door slammed somewhere in the house, but all Blake could register was the soft touch of Yang’s lips on the skin of her neck, her shallow breathing tickling the hair at her nape.

After a second, Yang cleared her throat and stepped back. “Let’s get out of here,” she said, breathless, and Blake nodded.

This time, she takes Yang’s hand as they barrel out of the house. Doors were actively slamming in their wake and Blake piles into the front seat and drives, Yang slumped in the front seat, fingers tapping against her cheek. 

She jumped up with a curse. “I forgot the camera,” she muttered. 

“Hey, it’s all right,” Blake said softly. “It’s not a big deal. We can go back -”

“Screw that house,” Yang said, slightly more flippantly, leaning back in her seat. “Blake, I - you said I was only there for a few minutes?”

“Three at the most,” Blake said, surprised. Even though she was still reeling from Yang’s explosive hug, she was still filled with concern for the golden-haired girl. “Why?”

Yang didn’t say anything, and Blake didn’t push her. But after a moment of silence, Blake hears Yang’s voice, soft and hushed. 

“It felt like an eternity,” she confessed. “And I was scared.”

Blake reaches out and touches Yang’s hand with hers, rubbing her thumb over the knuckles. “I won’t leave,” she promised. 

Yang huffed out a short laugh, watching Blake through the reflection in the misty glass of the car window. “Thank you, Blake.”

-

It becomes almost like a ritual: they break into a couple haunted places, catch some evidence if they can, then hightail it out of there.

Blake doesn’t let Yang out of her sight after the last time they got separated and vice versa. Yang’s always a steady presence next to Blake, and though she’s grateful for the warmth, she still finds herself itching to grow closer.

_ Maybe all I need is a scare,  _ she thought mournfully,  _ to get me to finally tell Yang.  _

“Tell what?” Yang asked, and Blake jumps back to the present. She swings her flashlight to face Yang - they’re in a large basement of some kind, and Yang looks nearly faded in the light, her usual gold hair dimmed. 

They’d started to investigate this place after the old man down the street had mentioned something about a ghost in a building. Something about his ex-wife dying there or whatnot - legends or not, the building was the largest they’d explored yet, almost as big as a church, and Blake and Yang had spent the better part of an hour poking around with no result. 

“Nothing,” Blake automatically replies. She swings her flashlight around, casting light on old pipes and dusty boxes. “There doesn’t seem to be anything big down here.”

“Yeah,” Yang says, sounding disappointed. The camera winks from her hand - they found it was easier to keep recording all the time in case if anything was recorded that they didn’t catch on their own. “Maybe we should head upstairs.”

There was a muffled noise from next to their left - Blake and Yang automatically swing their flashlights towards the noise. Wavering light is immediately cast into the corner, where nothing but a creaking chair and a few stacked boxes are thrown into relief under the pale beams.

Blake exhales and bites back a shriek as something steps out from behind the boxes. Yang jumps next to Blake, keeping a hand steady on Blake’s shoulder - they both automatically stumble backwards, back towards the exit.

Blake’s mind is racing, calculating. Yang’s hand is trembling slightly, but steady as she raises the flashlight to illuminate the creature.

It’s a woman - or what appears to be a woman - with long, pale blonde hair tied behind her head and a faded white dress. She looks around with bewilderment, eyes alighting on Blake and Yang. The woman looks tired, faded - like a photograph - her dress is at least fifty years out of date and she moves like she’s stumbling, trying to find footing. 

“Are… are you God?” she asks, shielding her hands. 

“No,” Yang says - a note of hysteria lines her voice, but it’s still as bold as usual. “I think I’d have noticed if I was.”

The lady frowns, tipping her head. Blake’s mind is swirling - she’s filled with awe, as this woman definitely  _ isn’t  _ real - awe and childlike wonder, but what trumps that is a desperate need to  _ get the hell out.  _

“Sun dragon,” she slurs, pointing at Yang. “Sun… dragon. You’re him. You… cursed…”

“Blake,” Yang says, stepping back, her hand clenching on Blake’s shoulder.  _ “Run.” _

Blake steps back and they’re both dashing, scrambling to the exit. The woman’s face transforms into a snarl and her features change - her hair whitens, her dress dimming to pitch-black rags. Veins splinter from the corners of her eyes and crawl down her cheeks, her irises blowing to fill her whites. 

Yang’s cursing, a steady stream of words, and Blake’s fumbling for her flashlight. She hurls it at the apparition of the woman, who dissolves into dust with a final shriek as they make it up the steps and into the wide area of the building.

Arched ceilings wheel above them but they’re hurrying madly to the exit, Yang’s flashlight cutting a wide swathe of light. There’s a low rumbling that grows louder and louder as they near the exit, and  _ ravens  _ crash through the windows, circling them, flapping their wings and shrieking in Blake’s ears.

They seem to be avoiding the light, and they’re almost at the door when Yang’s foot catches on a crack and she falls, crumpling to the floor with a sharp cry. Blake skids to a stop, feet tripping over themselves, and she ends up sprawled on top of Yang, hands planted on either side of her face.

Yang’s eyes are wide as they stare up at Blake - the ravens are wheeling above them, and the flashlight is loose, rolling on the floor, light switching off. The red light from her camera blinks dully from her other hand, and Blake sees her wild reflection in Yang’s lavender irises.

“I didn’t think it would take birds threatening to take out my head to get you this close to me,” Yang says breathlessly, and Blake thinks dimly  _ this is it, it’s finally going to happen,  _ and she’s so sure she’s going to die but hell -

She grabs Yang by the front of her shirt and hauls her close. Yang’s compliant, moving under her hands - the birds are screaming above her and Blake’s almost sure that they’re going to die here, in this building, all on the whim of an old man’s warning - but she kisses Yang like she’s all that’s worth living for.

Yang’s warm under her hands and responsive, a hand tangling in Blake’s hair, breathing the same air. Blake pulls away and reaches for the flashlight - she flicks it on and the ravens wheel away from the light, screeching and shrieking. 

Yang’s already on her feet, and she scoops Blake up - Blake grabs Yang’s hand and they tear out of the building, crashing down the steps. The ravens follow them, but they wheel towards the sky once they exit the building, a noxious, writhing cloud. 

The drive home is almost as frenzied as their escape - Yang hits the gas and doesn’t stop, skidding down streets. It’s only when they reach their apartment that Blake can finally breathe, collapsing on the couch.

A heavy weight follows and Yang rests her head on Blake’s chest, right at the juncture of her shoulder and neck. “Can’t believe we almost died for the supernatural,” she mumbled into Blake’s skin.

“Can’t believe it took a damn ghost for me to kiss you,” Blake countered weakly. She’s really too tired for this. 

Yang turns her head and kisses Blake. It’s softer and sweeter, warm and chaste. Blake sinks into the comfort of it, tangling her hand in Yang’s hair. Yang’s thumb strokes the curve of Blake’s chin, and she sighs into Blake’s mouth. 

Blake thinks about how she’s waited for this - she loves it, Yang soft and pliant against her body, a warm weight on their couch, and they’re both sweaty and dusty but she doesn’t mind it, she can live in this moment forever as long as it meant Yang was still lying with her. 

“I’d do it again,” Yang finally says when she pulls away, her mouth red-kissed and flushed, looking pleased. 

“Nearly dying from running away from a ghost or kissing me?” Blake asked, leaning against the couch. She plays with the camera still dangling from Yang’s wrist. It’s still filming, flashing weakly red with the rhythm of Blake’s heartbeat. 

Yang laughs, and the thrill of it sends vibrations down Blake’s chest and through her throat. “Both.”

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr's [here](amaranthskies-writes.tumblr.com). feel free to drop by!


End file.
